Arrested
by sky.guinalie
Summary: Sequel to Kidnapped- A high-functioning sociopath, an ex-army doctor, and a wanted assassin have to expose the most terrifying(and only) consulting criminal in the world. But when a life goes on the line the three have to disobey the law, and there are consequences. Can Sherlock and John keep their friends safe even when their allies have turned against them?
1. Chapter 1

A/N- It's back! Yay! Just a fluffy chapter to get started this time; also setting the stage for Johnlock!

"John. John. John." Sherlock repeated the name while poking his friend's face over and over. He was kneeling by the doctor's bed, ignoring the clock, which annoyed him by showing 'two AM'.

"Wha…?" John turned over and uncurled slightly, the blankets wrapped up to his nose. "Sherlock?" His voice was muffled.

"Yes, tis I," Sherlock said, standing up and re-settling himself on John's bed.

"No, go back to sleep," John said, annoyed.

Sherlock sighed, not moving. _I'm going to stay here until you talk to me._

John sat up, keeping his cocoon of blankets wrapped tight around him. "Okay, what is it? Because it'd better be important; you woke me up at two in the bloody morning."

"I… have a bad feeling," Sherlock said.

John's eyes widened. "You woke me up just because you had a bad feeling? I can't believe you, Sherlock!"

"No, a really bad feeling. I feel strange," said the consulting detective, hugging himself to keep out the cold.

"Then go feel strange on your own!" John exclaimed. "Because I don't care!"

"Hmm. Bad dreams?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side.

John sighed, relaxing and leading back against the headboard. "Yeah."

"Right." Sherlock looked down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out at you like that," John said very quickly, taken aback by how morose his friend looked. "You're my best friend in the world, I care…"

"I know."

"How do you feel strange?" John asked, sighing and resigning himself to an hour or so of Sherlock puzzling him.

"Irene," was Sherlock's response.

"What? I don't understand," said the doctor, pulling his knees up and arranging his blankets for a long conversation.

"Do you remember Irene Adler?" asked the consulting detective.

"Yes."

"I felt… odd around her," Sherlock said. "Yes, and I feel that way again."

John was still confused. _Wait a moment… does that mean Sherlock is in love? I don't necessarily want that… It might change our life. Of course, I'm happy for him…_

"And I don't like it." Sherlock stretched out at the foot of his blogger's bed. "And it scares me."

John chuckled. "Sherlock Holmes? Scared? Naw."

"Yes, I am," Sherlock said crossly. "It's not funny. It makes me feel so vulnerable and I can't concentrate and it's messing up my mind palace."

"Just go to sleep and we'll talk more in the morning, okay?" John talked to Sherlock as if he were addressing a child.

"I hate my bed and my chair and my couch," said the consulting detective.

John's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "So you wanna sleep on the floor?"

"Here's fine, thanks," Sherlock said, proceeding to get comfortable in John's bed.

"No, I don't want you here," John curled up, not wanting to make contact with Sherlock. "Go back to your own bed. Now."

But Sherlock was already closing his eyes and ignoring the doctor.

John sighed, yawning. _I'll have to deal with it for just this one night. _He liked to think he was indignant about it, but, in a way, he liked it; a way to feel closer to his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- This chapter is a bit emotional, especially through John's war memories, but it had to happen.

"Uh, guys?"

Sebastian's voice filtered through John's dreams. "Hmm?" The doctor opened his eyes, sighing when he found Sherlock's head resting on his chest.

The consulting detective had, during the night, gotten under the blankets, moved to the top of the bed instead of the bottom, and cuddled up with John. Sherlock snored loudly, waking the doctor up further.

"Sorry, if you guys were having a li'l moment or whatever," Sebastian said, getting ready to leave them alone.

John sighed, rolling his eyes. "No, no. I'm not gay, he's not my partner, and…" _And he's in my bed. Sure looks convincing. _"Just go ahead, what were you going to say?"

Sebastian waved a hand. "Aw, nothing, really. Just that the police went in there after we called and they couldn't find Jim's- sorry, 'Moriarty's'- body, meaning that he somehow survived. No biggie."

"What?!" John sat bolt upright, unsettling Sherlock.

The consulting detective groaned, stretching. He blinked several times before sitting up. "Repeat that, please."

"Moriarty's… a-alive," John stammered. "He c-can't-" The doctor stopped, finding himself on the verge of tears. _I don't need to cry about this, I have to be strong. What happened is in the past. _But he couldn't prevent himself from pushing his face against Sherlock's chest, closing his eyes and trying to block out the memories.

"Ah, excuse him," Sherlock said, glancing up at Sebastian as John's arms tightened around the consulting detective's waist. "You may let go now, John."

"H-h-he's not d-dead," John said, his muffled voice shaking violently as he refused to release Sherlock. He buried himself deeper in the detective's shirt. "H-he was dead…"

"John, this is not the time to cry," Sherlock said, glancing around for something to help his distraught friend. "I know he did terrible things to you, but you can't let him get the better of you." _I must think: what would calm him down? _

"I'm gonna go get Mrs. Hudson…" Sebastian said slowly, not knowing what to think of the scenario playing out in front of him. He turned and trotted down the stairs.

"John," Sherlock said firmly. He reached over to the doctor's bedside table. "Here." He found John's hand and pressed the small metallic object into it.

John's fingers curled around the object, and he slowly let go of Sherlock. "My… my dog-tag." He opened his hand and stared at the little thing like it was a lifeline.

Sherlock didn't move, not knowing what to do. _I've never been good at emotions… _

John played with the dog-tag, spinning it's chain around his finger and turning it over and over and feeling the name engraved in it. His name. Grabbing the object so hard it hurt, the doctor wiped away his tears with the clenched fist. "Sherlock?" John turned his back on the detective, sitting with good posture.

"Yes?" Sherlock answered, very confused at what was going on.

"Put it on for me, will you?" John handed the dog-tag to his friend.

"Alright…" Sherlock accepted the small object, pulling the chain out to it's full length before carefully fastening it around John's neck.

"Thank you." John pulled the dog-tag straight, feeling the weight settle on his chest. He knew it shouldn't feel comforting, but it did. "Thank you," he repeated. _I haven't worn it in… years._

Silence enveloped the room, neither one of the two wanting to speak, neither feeling the need to. Sherlock was scrutinizing the way John's hair rumpled with sleep to pass time, and John himself was still sitting stiffly upright, as if frozen.

Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway. "So, he's really back."

John turned immediately, snapping out of his reverie and quickly dropping the dog-tag down his shirt. _I don't know why I'm hiding it… She can still see the chain around my neck._

"Yes, apparently," Sherlock replied, looking Mrs. Hudson over as the older woman came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"John, dear, are you alright?" asked the landlady.

"Fine." John found the answer blunt and cold, and was shocked.

"Oh, you've been crying." Mrs. Hudson wrapped her arms around the doctor.

John rubbed his eyes with one hand, trying to erase the telltale marks of the tears. "No, I'm just tired."

"You don't need to-" began Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm just tired is all!" John exclaimed, standing up and hurrying out of the room.

"What's up with him?" asked the landlady, turning to Sherlock.

The consulting detective sighed. "I woke him in the middle of the night and stole his bed, then I snored, then I ruined his night's sleep. And when Seb got him up, he told us that Moriarty's still alive. Now, John took that rather badly and began to cry, most likely due to the fact that Moriarty held him prisoner and tortured him. So I gave him his little army name thing, and I put it on him, and he stiffened up. I don't know, really, what's up with him," Sherlock concluded.

"Oh, Sherlock, you insensitive pratt," Mrs. Hudson said, and went off to find John.

Sherlock sighed, his shoulders slumping. _I tried my best..._


	3. Chapter 3

"Open the door; you're not allowed to lock the door!"

John ignored his friend's voice. He pressed his forehead against the wall and held up his phone. _I haven't talked to her in so long. She probably hates me… She probably doesn't even remember me. I have to do it anyway. _He tapped the screen and held the device to his ear. "Harry?"

"Woah! Hey, li'l bro. Haven't seen you in ages!"

"Harry?" John couldn't believe it. "You're not drunk…"

"Nope. What's goin' on?"

_Harry sounds so happy. What happened? _"Oh, I just need someone to talk to."

"Wait- did you break up with your boyfriend?" Harry sounded shocked.

John sighed. "Sherlock and I aren't dating and we never were."

"Okay, okay, okay," Harry quickly backpedalled. "So… how've you been?"

"Pretty well, I should think," John replied. "Until now."

"Huh?" Harry intoned, meaning, 'How so, dear brother?'.

"There was this man, and he was…" John was unwilling to say evil due to how childish it would sound. "A very horrible person. We thought he was dead, but they never found his body, and our assassin-tenant thinks he's still alive."

"Assassin-tenant?"

John could picture Harry shaking her head in disbelief.

"If Mum could see you now," she said.

"What about you?" John felt required to defend himself. "You're an alcoholic."

"I was. Not any more."

"What happened?" John was confused. _Not even Mum could make her stop… Did she get arrested for driving drunk and is banned from alcohol?_

"Well, Clara and I are back together," Harry said, proudly. "And she didn't like my drinking habits, so I stopped."

John smiled, happy with his sister. "I'm impressed. Good for you, Harry. I-"

"Joooohn. Let me in!" Sherlock's voice interrupted the sentence.

"Listen, Harry," John said, holding the phone out. _I can't believe him._

"John. I shall kick your door down and the blame rests solely on you shoulders, do you hear?" Sherlock was yelling now.

"He's mad because I locked him out," explained the doctor.

"Oh. Why aren't you talking to him?" Harry sounded inquisitive.

John still couldn't help but marvel at how clean and un-slurred his sister's voice was. "I don't feel like talking to anyone right now."

"You're talking to me."

"You're different." John ran his fingers along the edges of his dogtag, pulling at the chain.

"Am not. Listen: he loves you and cares about you. If you don't acknowledge him and show him that you respect him, you'll lose him." Harry sighed. "I know from experience."

John didn't speak as the truth of Harry's words sank in.

"Uh, John?" Harry asked, wanting an explanation for the silence.

"Thanks, Harry," John said. "Bye." He hung up and carefully laid the phone on his bedside table. Then he unlocked and opened the door.

Sherlock tumbled in, knocking John over and landing on top of him.

"Sherlock?" John squinted up at his friend.

"Yes?" the consulting detective replied calmly.

_He must have been leaning against the door,_ John thought. _And I probably surprised him by opening it. _"You can get off me."

"Right." Sherlock stood up and straightened his scarf. He offered John a hand.

The doctor let his friend pull him up. "Sherlock, thank you."

"For what?"

John hugged the detective. "For everything. You're always here for me, and you're so simple that you pull me back to what really matters."

"You're calling me simple?" Sherlock scoffed, awkwardly patting the top of John's head until he let go.

John smiled. "No, of course not."

And the two headed off to Scotland Yard, sitting unintentionally closer than usual in the taxi.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N- My friends and I all call Lestrade "Lestroodle". And now it's hard to write him without bursting out laughing…

"And now we're positive. It's him." Lestrade sat back and handed the file to John.

John sighed, flipping through the report. "I always thought that MI5 was untouchable."

"And it is," Donovan said, peeking around the door. "Except to James Moriarty. I just don't understand it." She walked in. "He can get anywhere he wants, and he just does it to freak us out."

"Yes, that's the point of a villain," Sherlock said dismissively.

Donovan sighed and turned on her heel, striding away.

"But how is he even alive?" asked Lestrade.

"That is the question, isn't it." Sherlock played with his gloves, slipping them on and off.

John grabbed his friend and took him aside. "Please act mature. This is a big problem, and Greg's trying to help us. You have to be agreeable."

"And Greg means Lestrade, correct?" Sherlock smirked.

"I know you do that on purpose! You don't forget anything but the name of one of your only friends!" John exclaimed.

"I know you know."

"So stop it!"

Sherlock ignored his friend and turned back to Lestrade. "So, Moriarty breaks into an MI5 base and doesn't do anything. You brought us here for…?"

"You came here on your own accord, Sherlock." Lestrade was obviously annoyed.

"Ah. Good job, you realized that," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!" John couldn't believe it. _Sherlock's always rude, but he's not usually this much of… a brat._

"We're here to enlist the help of some of your cretins," Sherlock said, pushing on and ignoring John again.

"My 'cretins'?" Lestrade looked to John.

"Yes. Meaning Anderson and company," John clarified.

Lestrade sighed. "And why would you need Anderson?"

"I need someone expendable; we're going back to Saint Claire's," Sherlock explained. "And I'm not risking John's life."

John looked up at Sherlock. _He didn't say anything about his life, and everyone knows that I'm less important than him._

"You want Anderson and Donovan just so you can kill them?" Lestrade cocked his head to the side.

"No, no, no. Were you even listening?" Sherlock asked exasperatedly.

"You're making no sense today," said Lestrade firmly; he was sick and tired of Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, when does he ever make sense, right?" John tried to break the silence and the uncomfortable tone set by the arguments of Sherlock and the DI.

Sherlock glared at Lestrade, who glared right back.

"Ugh, I'm going to the morgue, where everything cooperates." Sherlock turned on his heel, sending his long coat swirling around him, and stormed out of the building.

"Sorry," John quickly apologized.

"The morgue cooperates?" Lestrade looked confused.

"Well, you know him," the doctor replied, trotting out of the building after Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

_Of course. He couldn't wait ten bloody seconds for me to catch up. _John stood on the curb, trying to hail a taxi. His phone buzzed.

**Hospital. Now. SH**

John sighed. He called Sherlock. "Listen, if you wanted me at the hospital, you could have let me get into the cab. We always take cabs together."

"John, I need you! Come on!"

"You always text; why are you even talking, anyway?" John asked, finally getting into a taxi. He lowered the phone and said, "Bartholomew's Hospital, please."

"It's an emergency!" Sherlock's voice was tense.

"Okay, okay. I'm on my way," John replied. "What's happened?"

But Sherlock hung up.

"Could you go a bit faster?" John asked of the cabby.

The man looked back. "Sorry, we've got speed limits."

"No; I know," replied John, looking down and feeling bad for interrupting the cabby. Something inside his head told him to be angry with the man, but he pushed it down. The driver didn't know anything about what was going on.

Eventually, the taxi pulled up in the nearly empty hospital parking lot.

John payed the man and hopped out, running through the tall majestic doors, up the stairs, and into the morgue. He found Sherlock lying facedown on the cold floor. "Sherlock?"

"Ah, you're here." Sherlock got up.

"What were you doing?" John peered around the morgue, which looked deserted.

"I was looking at the floor, what did you think I was doing?" Sherlock answered, as if John had just said the most stupid thing possible.

"Yes, I know, but what was on the floor?" John asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Well, I'd hoped it would be footprints, but no. They were careful," the consulting detective replied.

"Careful with what-" began John.

"Taking Melissa!" exclaimed Sherlock, spinning around while holding his arms out to gesticulate the emptiness of the room.

"Uh… You mean Molly?" John corrected.

"Yes, of course."

"Where's she gone?" John took a few steps, making sure no one was in the room.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, regarding John. "Well, my doctor, we don't know that yet, do we?" His tone was so condescending that it stung.

"Do you know who took her?" asked John, speaking slowly and trying to check if he were saying anything stupid before it came out and Sherlock scolded him.

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and shook him. "Moriarty, you useless idiot!" He took a step back.

"Sherlock!" the doctor exclaimed. He looked up, frightened, into the sea-green eyes, but his friend avoided the gaze.

"Well?" Sherlock asked quietly, glaring at John disdainfully over his coat collar, which he'd spitefully turned up. "What are you going to lecture me about?"

John sighed. "I know that our whole thing is being there for each other, but that's a little hard for me when you treat me like this."

"Treat you like what?" Sherlock sat down on a cold hospital chair.

"You've got to be kidding me." John scanned his friend's face for a sign of amusement, but Sherlock just looked confused and hurt. "You called me an idiot! You throw me around like I'm some kind of trinket!"

"Don't take it personally, I treat everyone that way." Sherlock looked down, still avoiding eye contact with the doctor.

"I thought-" John paused, taking a breath. "I thought I was different."

Sherlock looked up, locking gazes with John.

The doctor was surprised to see Sherlock's eyes shining.

Clasping his hands together, the consulting detective blinked slowly, wincing at the tears that dripped onto his pale cheeks. "You are different."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N- Sebby returns! An' didja catch the li'l Cabin Pressure reference? Tell me if you did! And remember the awesome outcrops that Sherlock epic-ly stood on in Hound of the Baskervilles? Oh, and I'm beta-ing now, for any of y'all who want!

A glance, a careful touch, a shared smile. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for Sally Donovan to know that something was up. And finding out exactly what was the only thought in her mind when she called John.

"That's my phone."

"You're not going to answer it, are you?" Sherlock looked shocked at the very idea of John replying to the call. The consulting detective's cheeks were red from laughing, and the tears that once stained his face now resided on the sleeve of his coat.

"Yes, I'm going to answer it," John responded, yanking his hand out of Sherlock's and stepping away to talk to whoever was calling.

Sherlock watched, focusing his sea green eyes on the back of John's head, and reviewed the recent events in his mind. _I don't know if 'you are different' counted for John, but it certainly counted for me. He's different, of course he is. If telling him that I care about him more than everyone else and then laughing with him afterwards means 'I love you', then I'm fine. If not… I don't know what'll happen. We held hands…_

"Uh, no he hasn't," John said, speaking to Donovan. "No, Sally, I don't know what you're talking about."

"But are you sure he hasn't been acting… odd?" asked Donovan.

"You just asked me that." John sighed. "I said no."

"I know, but has he-" began the Sergeant.

John rolled his eyes. _Let me guess. 'Has he been acting odd lately? _"No! Well, he did giggle with me for about fifteen minutes, but…"

"But that's nothing out of the ordinary," Donovan finished.

"Yeah," John replied.

"I knew I'd find you here!"

Sherlock and John spun around, surprised to see Sebastian standing in the doorway, phone in hand.

"I know where he is!" Sebastian exclaimed.

Both the doctor and the detective knew who 'he' was.

"Thank God I have an assassin," Sherlock muttered, snatching John's hand once more and striding confidently to the door. He met Sebastian and they ran down the stairs and out to the street, Sherlock dragging his blogger in their wake.

"Sherlock, would you mind running slower next time?" John pleaded, catching his breath. He'd barely been able to stumble along after the consulting detective even with Sherlock pulling him.

"My legs are metres longer than yours," Sherlock replied, and held up a hand to hail a taxi. "So yes, I do mind running slower next time."

They climbed into the taxi and settled themselves in as it sped off.

"It's okay, I'll wait for you!" Sebastian said, peeking back at them from the front seat in the taxi with a smile on his face.

John sighed. _Sometimes he's an idiot. But a sweet idiot, most definitely. _"Thanks, Seb."

Sherlock slipped on his gloves. "So, Sebastian, how did you find out where Moriarty's hiding this time?"

"Take a look at this," Sebastian said, his voice instantly serious. He held out his phone to display a text.

**Sick of Sherlock? Even he can get a bit boring. You can find me at the Dartmouth outcrops.**

"Intense, right?" Sebastian looked from John to Sherlock.

John had an unreadable expression of mixed terror and an odd overexposed look. In short, his instinct was to go back home and curl up under a blanket, but he wouldn't let himself do that. Not when Molly's life was at stake.

Sherlock's eyebrows were lowered in disbelief and he ran a hand through his dark curly hair. "Am I really boring?"

"No, not really," Sebastian answered, before slipping back into serious mode. "Who's he got this time?"

John felt a shiver dance up his spine; a shiver of fear. "Molly. Molly Hooper. She works at the hospital."

"Let's hope she's still in one piece," Sherlock said grimly, sighing.

John winced, unintentionally grabbing the dog-tag through his jumper. It'd become more than a habit, instead transforming into a second nature. He'd hold the object when he was scared or anxious.

"Well, shall we?" Sebastian offered as the taxi stopped. He climbed out and opened the door for Sherlock.

A nod from the consulting detective and they were off, trekking across the hillocky grassland of Dartmoor. None of the three were surprised when they saw the two figures atop one of the outcrops, and again, there was no astonishment at the clear silhouette of a handgun pointed directly at the smaller figure's head.

John bit his lip and reached up towards his dog-tag, but Sherlock caught his hand halfway there and squeezed. A warm feeling filled the doctor and he sighed, letting his mind clarify itself. _Calm down, John, _he told himself. _You've got this. _


	7. Chapter 7

A/N- One hell of an intense chapter. I loved writing every second of it. If any of you want me to beta, just ask!

The fear in Molly's eyes lit up even further when she realized who the three people were. She knew that she was just bait for Moriarty's trap, and that she'd be okay eventually, but the whole thing seemed shockingly real on a much more intense level when she saw Sherlock striding steadily towards them. She couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to the consulting detective she held so dear.

The three glanced up at Molly on the rock formation, exchanging nervous looks. A slight noise rang out, breaking the uncanny silence.

"My phone," Sherlock whispered. "Could you get it?"

Despite the horrible predicament, John couldn't help but roll his eyes. _The phone is literally in his coat. And he's wearing that coat. _But, patient as always, the doctor reached into Sherlock's coat pocket and pulled out the phone. "Here."

"Mycroft," Sherlock spat. "Answer the phone for me, Sebastian." He passed the device over to the assassin.

"Okay, sure," Sebastian said, smiling. "Wait, which button-"

"There," Sherlock interrupted, tapping the button for the assassin. "You really don't know how to answer a phone?"

"Hey! I'm used to Yugoslavian technology!" Sebastian exclaimed, in defense.

Sherlock smirked.

Sebastian lifted the phone to his ear. "Hi?"

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"Uh, no, I'm Sebastian," Sebastian answered, feeling uncomfortable. "Your brother, uh…"

Sherlock mouthed, 'I can't talk to him right now!'

"Yeah, he's not available," finished the assassin.

Mycroft sighed audibly. "Well, can you take a message?"

"Sure!"

"Tell him that we've let him rescue his little doctor, but this matter is out of his hands," Mycroft said sternly. "I've pulled all the strings I can, but there's no loophole that would allow this."

"What do you mean?" Sebastian asked, confused, and feeling a creeping dread surround him.

"If he interferes he'd be going against the government, therefore I'd have no choice but to arrest him, Doctor Watson, and you as well." Mycroft was deadly serious.

Sebastian gasped. "I-I'll tell him that, sir," he stammered, and quickly hung up. "Sherlock, we have to go."

"But Molly-" began John.

"No, we're leaving or we'll all be arrested," Sebastian said firmly, eyes darting back and forth nervously. "Mycroft said so."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "If we leave rescuing Mary-"

"Molly," corrected John.

"Fine. If we leave rescuing Molly up to the government, Moriarty will kill her. We have to go on," Sherlock said, a fire of determination sparking in his voice.

"But Mycroft-" began Sebastian.

"I don't care about Mycroft!" exclaimed Sherlock. "He would never really arrest me. Come on."

And so, once again, the three walked towards the big rock formation, the sinister threat of incarceration hanging over their heads.

"Moriarty!" called Sherlock. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I just missed your pretty face." The sickly sweet voice floated down from the top of the enormous rock.

"Give Molly back," the consulting detective demanded. "She never did anything."

"Ah, yes. She's a good hostage, don't you think?" Moriarty asked. "I've got to say, though, John was better. He's much cuter."

John gritted his teeth.

"Give her back!" Sherlock exclaimed, his voice somehow remaining deep and threatening even when he yelled.

Moriarty chuckled. "If I just gave her back, that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

"It's not very fun being held hostage," John said. "She's probably terrified."

"Well, you're right, Doctor," Moriarty answered. "I-" He froze, hearing the telltale whirl of helicopter blades. "You called the police? Bad move, Sherly. Very bad move." Without a second's thought, he pulled the trigger and pushed Molly's now limp body off the rock.

The drop was about thirty feet.

John saw Molly fall, saw her body descend, and he felt an instinct kick in somewhere deep inside him. He stepped forward and caught her.

Of course, Molly's weight and immense momentum was too much for John, who was quite small, and the impact sent both doctor and pathologist smashing into the ground. But John had done his part, and when Molly hit the ground it was a soft landing compared with what it would have been.

John slipped into that daze, the one that claimed him whenever he was trying to save a life. The elements of the blazing heat, the dust swirling around him and his patient from their fall, the element of need and danger; it was all adding up to what was the perfect battlefield memory. And suddenly, he wasn't in Dartmoor anymore. He was in Afghanistan, and the person in front of him was dying.

Due to Molly's struggling, the bullet hadn't ended up in her head like it was supposed to. It had, instead, punctured the soft, vulnerable skin near her collarbone. It hadn't broken any bones, but it had definitely torn through ligaments and the bleeding was more than heavy. John assessed the information in his head as he carefully laid Molly out straight, back to the ground.

John found his hands falling into a pattern that he'd repeated too many times to count; how to neutralize a bullet wound. He naturally had blocked everything else out, allowing him to concentrate. Check pulse; check breathing; apply pressure; repeat. It was looking alright for this bad a wound. She had a slim chance of survival, and that was more than John had hoped for. _I might be able to save her if I can just stay with her. _

But things were going wrong, terribly wrong, when John felt large strong hands on his shoulders, the men from the helicopter, pulling him away from Molly. He was still in his memory, in his illusion, and these people were interrupting the process of saving a life. "No," John said weakly, sounding heartbroken and desperate. "No, she's dying. I have to help her." His voice cracked, and the men pulled him further away.

The heat swirled around John and his vision swam. Slowly, an enveloping blackness materialized, eating away at what was left of the horrible scene in front of him. And Doctor John Watson was plunged into a dark oblivion.


	8. Chapter 8

"I hate him." Sherlock's voice dripped with disgust. He looked across the hallway and through two sets of bars at Sebastian. "How dare he?"

"Well, he did say he was going to arrest us," Sebastian pointed out. "And he was true to his-"

"Shut up!" Sherlock exclaimed. He closed his eyes indignantly and began to file a new memory in his mind palace. _John had been so intent on keeping Molly with us. He was there, helping her, and then Mycroft had his men take us. They wrenched him away from her and slowly the combination of fear, distress, and memories overtook the doctor. I saw John fall, held in their arms, having blacked out. And now he's in the hospital. _

"Sherlock?" asked Sebastian nervously. "There's a guy…" The assassin was, no doubt, referring to the ominous figure in the doorway. A figure with an umbrella.

The man, for a man it was, walked down the long isle of empty cells and made it to the end and the two occupied ones. "Why can you never listen to me, brother mine?"

"Let us out; you know that you need me more than I need you," Sherlock said, very quickly.

Mycroft sighed. "I can't let you out, you've been arrested, and will stay arrested until I decide to let you go."

"Trial." Sherlock's sea-green eyes narrowed. _There must be some loophole to get us out. _

"No, no trial. That was up to me, and frankly, brother dear, you don't deserve a trial," Mycroft said. "Think of your method of doing things all your life, and how I've warned you against it but you do it anyways. Only now you're not getting hydrochloric acid on Mummy's new dress. Now you've violated a law of interference and you're going to pay the price."

"Let me go!" Sherlock spun around, not facing Mycroft.

The older Holmes chuckled softly. "You act like such a child."

"Shut up, will you?" Sherlock sighed, and turned back around. He glared his brother in the eyes. "If you truly are condemning me to this horrible existence and letting all of London pay the price of whatever crimes I can't solve, then fine. It's all your fault. One favor please?"

"Ask away."

"When John gets back from the hospital, bring him to us," Sherlock commanded. _John's not hurt, they were just worried about him and these idiots didn't know what else to do when he passed out. He's so small, I bet they just carried him over. _

"Perhaps," Mycroft said, turning away and making for the door.

Sherlock pressed himself up against the bars. "Wait!"

Mycroft paused, looking back.

"Can I have just one call?" Sherlock asked. There was a new light in his eyes this time, a more submissive, scared look. Just the perfect look to arouse sympathy in an older brother.

"No," Mycroft said sharply, trying not to make eye contact with his little brother.

Sherlock forced himself to keep his eyes open, drawing tears. "My, please," he pleaded. 'My' was his childhood nickname for Mycroft, when they had gotten along. "Please." His pale, slender fingers curled around the bars, and he was pressed up against them to such an extent that if someone were to open the door he would fall forward.

Mycroft sighed. "Alright." He walked forward, next to the cell. He pulled out his phone and passed it to Sherlock through the bars. Then, he did something peculiar. Mycroft nervously sent a glance towards a security camera perched in the top corner of the room before leaning closer to Sherlock. "I want to help you, Sher. I really do. I'm doing all I can. Just hold out for a while more, alright?"

"Help me, then. I can wait as long as London can wait." Sherlock sighed, letting his hand with the phone fall to his side. "Without me, the city will run rampant with crime, and anyway, my fans will beg for you to let me go the second they find out what's happened. They'll protest even more when they find out that I was arrested while trying to save an innocent woman who was held hostage. Think, Mycroft. The press won't be in your favor."

"I know," Mycroft replied with a sigh. "Well, hurry up with the call. I need to go."

Sherlock nodded, typed something in on the device, then held it up to his ear. "Hello? Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm so worried about you three! Where are you?" The kindly old woman's voice crackled over the phone. She was possibly crying.

"We were arrested," Sherlock answered coolly. "Do you have John's computer with you?"

"No…"

"Get it and open up his blog. Make a new entry and type exactly what I say," Sherlock ordered.

Sebastian sighed. _I'm lucky to know such a genius. _

"I have it ready, dear," said Mrs. Hudson.

"Alright. Say such:" Sherlock cleared his throat. "'I am not the wonderful and lovely Doctor John Watson, I am sorry to say. I am Sherlock, Sebastian, and John's kind and helpful landlady, Mrs. Hudson, typing. Sherlock is talking to me over the phone and telling me to type these exact words. Onward, as this message is from I, Sherlock.

"I realize that I have been rather distant and unfriendly in the past, but now I am faced with something I haven't encountered before and I may need your help. You have all heard of James Moriarty.

"He, as some of you may know, is not actually dead. He's back, and, as of yesterday, he captured one of John, Sebastian, and my dearest friends. Molly Hooper. We were going to rescue her, and the plan was going fine. Then, I got a call from a government official. He said that we had to step away and not interfere.

"I knew that if the police showed up, Moriarty would kill Molly, and he had a handgun resting on her temple. I knew that we couldn't let the matter fall into the hands of the bumbling government idiots, and Lestrade, if you're reading this, you're not included in this, because I know you would have tried to stop them. So I ignored the message.

"The government arrived, and Moriarty shot poor Molly. John, being the perfect, loyal, and brave man he is, caught her as she fell from one of the great Dartmoor outcroppings. They crashed into the ground together, and a cloud of dust rose around them. John worked hard, falling into a pattern from Afghanistan, trying to save her life.

"Then, the government agents poured out of the helicopter, and took us. They pulled John away from Molly, leaving her for dead. John pleaded with them, telling them that he was trying to save her, and they called for a stretcher. They placed Molly upon it, and brought her to the helicopter. Sebastian and I watched helplessly from the sidelines as John collapsed, one of the agents easily supporting his limp body. They carried him to the helicopter and I haven't seen him since.

"But Sebastian and I and currently in jail, under arrest for trying to rescue an innocent woman. I hope you all see how insane this is, and I'd like all your help. Talk to the news. Convince them that we're innocent, and that we need to get out before London tears itself down with crime. Please. Help us, and if Sebastian and I aren't enough, do it for John. Steadfast, loyal John, who never puts himself first and who would die before seeing any harm come to me. John, you are my protector and anchor, and I owe you so much.

"That is it, goodbye.'" Sherlock took a deep breath. "Did you get it all, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, dear. That's quite a message you have there," she said.

"Well, with any luck I'll be seeing you again soon," said the consulting detective. "Goodbye." He hung the phone up, passed it to Mycroft, and smirked. "Good luck covering this up now, brother mine."

Mycroft, completely mortified, turned stiffly and left.

"Wow. That was… amazing, Sherlock," Sebastian said, with a sigh.

"Stop."

"It was a compliment!" exclaimed the assassin.

Sherlock turned away, not wanting to show his friend the tears in his eyes. "It was… it was one of the first things John ever said to me."

"Ah. Right. Sorry, I'll shut up," Sebastian said, resigning.

"And there's another John quote. Just… don't talk at all." Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around him and sat down. _I miss him… it's just like when he went missing the first time. Only this time there's strange machines and needles and blinking lights. I hate being in the hospital. _

Sebastian sighed. _This is going to be a long, long, silent night, isn't it?_


	9. Chapter 9

A/N- This was a fun one to write… Hehehe. I covered my Cabin Pressure reference, now I've got my Hobbit one. All I need now is Into Darkness. See if you can catch it! BTW, the reference thingies were a challenge from a friend.

"I'm fine. I told you, I'm fine," John insisted.

The nurse cocked her head to the side, as if she didn't understand.

"I was never hurt," said John, gesturing to himself. "I just… well, I don't know what happened."

"Why not?" asked the nurse, smiling blankly.

John sat down on the hospital bed. "I don't know."

The nurse patted his head. "Do you want me to get the doctor?"

"Uh, right." _I don't need a doctor, but… maybe he or she will be nice. Why am I in the hospital again?_

The door opened. "John?"

"Yes, I'm John," John said, sitting up straighter immediately and feeling awkward.

The doctor had a tag saying her name, Sabrina Jones. Her auburn hair was all on one shoulder, having been swept over. Freckles and blush decorated her cheeks.

"Why am I in the hospital?" asked John.

"Goodness," she said, pulling up a chair. "Well, you smashed into the ground pretty hard, from what those agents told us."

"Agents?" John scoffed, giggling. "What even happened?"

Sabrina cleared her throat. "You're probably feeling a bit woozy from the painkillers, but you'll be fine in a while. I-"

"Painkillers?" John rested his chin in his hands, smiling. "I don't have pain."

"Do you mean that you're not in pain?" asked Sabrina.

"Yeah."

"Well, the drugs will numb it, so-" Sabrina began.

John looked confused. "Wait, what agents?"

"The agents that were sent to arrest you and your partner," Sabrina said.

"Arrest me?" John shook his head indignantly. "I'm not a burglar."

Sabrina sighed. "You were on a case, and the police didn't like it," she informed.

"A case of what?"

"A case, as in a crime that you solve." Sabrina was beginning to worry, fearing the worst.

"Jeez, I'm not that smart," John exclaimed, giggling some more.

"Remember Sherlock?" asked Sabrina, leaning closer and placing a hand on John's shoulder.

John snorted. "Who's she?"

Sabrina stood up, grabbing some files. "I'll be right back, just stay right here." She hurried out.

"Yup." John waited until the door was closed, then laid down on his stomach on the bed, poking at the pillow repeatedly. "Woooow. This is weird," he mumbled to himself, laughing.

The door opened again, and this time a new man was with Sabrina.

The man smiled. "I'm Rob." He held out a hand.

John sat up very quickly. "So what?"

Rob looked up at Sabrina.

She sighed. "The painkilling drug is still wearing off and he's a bit…" She tilted her head back and forth.

"Yeah," Rob said, kindly. He nodded, and Sabrina left. "Now, John, I'm going to ask you some questions, because we're scared you might not remember anything about your old life."

"Huh. Sure, but what's that thing?" asked John, squinting his eyes at the necktie Rob was wearing.

Rob sighed. _Oh, god. This drug is pretty strong. _He gave John a glass of water, dropping in a tablet that would neutralize the painkiller.

"It's… fizzy," John said, shooting a suspicious glance at the tablet dissolving in the glass. He tentatively took a sip. "Yummy."

"Just drink it, okay?" Rob encouraged.

John froze. "Wait- didja drug it?" His words slurred together.

"No, you're fine," assured Rob.

John drank the water. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Sorry, what?"

"Ah, there we are," Rob said, sighing with relief. "You're going to answer some questions for me, alright?"

"Alright," John agreed.

Rob pulled out a clipboard on which to record results. "Now, name one of your friends."

"Right. Uh… I think I had one…" John's eyebrows lowered in confusion.

"This is worse than I thought." Rob scribbled something down. "Do you remember anything?"

"I don't know," John said, head in his hands. "That lady said something about a partner, do I have a partner?"

"Well, he's a-" began Rob.

John's eyes widened. "It's a he?"

"Well, that's just the thing," Rob said. "He's your work partner. There's a considerable theory, though, that he was your partner partner as well."

"Uh, who is he?" John asked, running his hand through his hair.

Rob sighed. "Sherlock Holmes."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N- John really does believe that he had a boyfriend… That's what comes of memory loss, I guess.

"Let me get this straight. You don't know why I lost my memory?" John asked. Hours had gone by, but Rob hadn't left yet, and John didn't want him to. There was so much to find out.

"Well, I do," Rob said with a sigh. "You hit the ground pretty hard, which is most of it, but the rest of it was caused by those agents interrupting such a gut instinct that it knocked you right out. They didn't do it on purpose; how could they know? But it is a known technique to put people under used by hypnotists and pressure point masters."

"Do I have a family?" asked John. _I just have to relearn everything. _

"Yes. A mother and a sister," replied Rob, after peering at the records.

"And I have a boyfriend," John said, just making sure he'd got everything so far. "Where is he?"

_I really do believe that Sherlock was his boyfriend, _Rob thought, sighing. "He's… in jail."

"Can I see him?" asked John. "I need to tell him I'm okay. What's his name again?" Even though John had no idea who he was talking about, he felt some sort of instinct to make sure that this boyfriend of his was alright.

"Sherlock," Rob answered. "And we'll bring you in as soon as we're done with this session to see him."

"Why's he in jail?" asked John.

"He's innocent," Rob said. "It explained everything on your blog."

"My blog? I have a blog?"

"We'll re-train to into your old life," said Rob. "Don't worry. Now, let's go and visit Sherlock, alright?"

"Yeah." John stood up and followed Rob out of the room.

The two took a taxi to the special MI6 prison.

John nibbled at his lip and tapped his fingers on the seat.

"Nervous?" asked Rob.

"Yes!" John exclaimed. "I don't know what to say, I don't even know what he looks like! I mean, I love him, don't I?"

"That's up to you," Rob replied.

John sighed. "She said I was supposed to, that other doctor lady, and what if I say the wrong thing?"

"Just say what you think."

"I don't know what I think!" John burst out. "Ugh."

Rob laid a hand on John's shoulder. "When you see him, you'll know what to say."

They rode in silence the rest of the way. And when they finally got there, John refused to leave the taxi.

"Come on," Rob said, smiling encouragingly while paying the cabby.

"Fine," John got out and nervously followed a few feet behind Rob.

They were greeted at the door by Mycroft.

"Mr. Holmes, John's not… he's not being arrested," Rob said.

"Yes he is," Mycroft protested. "Interference in crime without government permission!"

Rob took a step closer so John couldn't hear them. "He's completely lost his memory. We have to re-educate him about his old life before he can serve any time. And, by the way, I read the blog. This is completely unjust."

"Just go in," Mycroft commanded, not ready to be harassed by a Sherlock fan.

They stepped past Mycroft and down the corridor.

"John!" exclaimed Sherlock.

"That's Sherlock," Rob said, pointing.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "He knows who I am, you idiot."

Rob cleared his throat. "I'm afraid… I'm afraid he doesn't. He's lost all of his memory, and I mean all of it."

"No…" Sherlock whispered. "John?"

John stood, wide-eyed, not knowing what to do. _I… So he's Sherlock. He's gorgeous. He wants me to say something. What, though? Rob said that it's up to me. He's staring now. What to say, what to say? Something nice, and to show that I remember him, even though I don't. I don't want to worry him. He looks so upset. Something… Rob said to just say what I think. But what does someone say to their boyfriend? _"I… I…"

"John?" asked Sherlock.

"I love you…?" John smiled, what he hoped was a good 'this-is-a-normal-boyfriend-to-boyfriend-greeting' smile. He looked to Rob, who nodded.

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"I said the right thing, right?" John asked, taking a step closer.

Sherlock pushed his pale hand through the bars. "Yes, you did."

"What do I-" John glanced from Rob to Sherlock to Sebastian, who was aimlessly gazing, and then back to Sherlock. He eventually knew that he should hold Sherlock's hand, and so he did. "You feel cold."

"It's lonely, in jail," Sherlock replied. _John… John is acting as if he were my boyfriend, but also so naive as if he had no idea what he was doing. It would be kind to let him continue thinking this. As far as he knows, we are… partners. _

"I've never been in jail," John commented. "Who's that man?" He pointed to Sebastian.

"It's Sebastian Moran," Rob explained. "He's your accomplice."

"Hello, Sebastian," John said blankly, waving

Sebastian gasped. "John, buddy, dontcha remember me?"

"I'm sorry," John said, with a shake of his head. He saw the horror and hurt in Sebastian's eyes, and he suddenly felt the insuppressible urge to cry. "I'm so so so sorry." He felt the tears begin to stream down his cheeks, and then he was shuddering; shaking; gasping; full on sobbing. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry."

"Come here," Sherlock said.

John, still crying his eyes out, carefully pressed himself up against the bars.

Sherlock held John's hands through the bars. "None of this is your fault. It's going to be okay."

"N-no it's not."

And, no matter how much Sherlock, Rob, Sebastian, and Mycroft would have liked to ignore it, John Watson was as right as it got. It was most definitely not going to be okay.


	11. Chapter 11

It took a while to pull John away from the cell bars. He'd cried, laughed, talked, and before Rob had brought him back to the hospital, he'd given Sherlock a clumsy through-the-bars kiss on the cheek.

Mycroft had sighed, watching it all unfold from the doorway. _I still don't quite understand why no one has told John that he's not Sherlock's partner. It just… doesn't add up. _He looked over at his little brother, who'd been curled up suking in the corner ever since John had left.

"Hey, umbrella guy," Sebastian called.

"Yes?" Mycroft answered, taking a few steps closer to the cell so the assassin wouldn't talk so loudly.

Sebastian sighed. "I know we're supposed to be the bad guys, but look what this is doing to Sherlock." He gestured.

The consulting detective sat, motionless, facing the wall.

"And I don't know about you, but when I think about it, I know that John needs us right now and because of you we can't be there for him," continued Sebastian.

Mycroft didn't speak. _He's completely utterly right. I wish I could let them out, I really do. But the consequences are too great. _

Sebastian gave a defeated sigh. "I mean, I know I'm in no position to be saying any of this, but it really hurts me to see one of my best friends like that, unable to remember anything, and I can't help him at all."

"I know," Mycroft finally replied.

"And I know you still hate me and have every reason to, but I want you to know that Sherlock and John have helped me a lot, and I only want to be able to help them back," Sebastian said firmly. "Alright. I'm done."

"Good." Mycroft turned on his heel and strode out of the building. _God, what have I become? Sebastian Moran's making more sense than I am now. And Sherlock won't even talk at all. I wish I knew what the hell was going on and how to control it. _

"So, how do you like them?" asked Rob.

John sat at the end of the bed and swung his feet. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"Well, I-" Rob began.

"I want to go home," John said firmly.

"No one will be there," Rob replied.

"Oh." John sighed. "Where do I live?"

Rob put his head in his hands. _This is the most difficult thing I've ever done. _"You live on Baker Street."

"Is is nice there?"

"It's plenty nice," Rob assured. "I need you to tell me, how did you like your friends?"

"They're nice friends," John replied. "Sebastian seems very kind."

Rob nodded, scribbling in a notebook. "What about Sherlock?"

"I care about him very much," John answered. "I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's tall, which is good because he can protect me; and he always knows the right thing to say to me. Although he didn't seem to like the man with the umbrella."

"No, that's his brother," Rob replied.

"Why wasn't the brother trying to get him out, if he didn't do anything wrong?" asked John, confused.

Rob bit his lip. "Well, it was Mycroft, his brother, that put him there in the first place."

"How dare he?" John whispered. "He imprisoned an innocent man!"

Rob almost smiled. It was good to see some of John's old fire and loyalty flare back up in his eyes. "I know. There's nothing we can do about that now, but-"

"Yes there is," interrupted John.

"What?" Rob tilted his head questioningly to one side.

"There is something we can do about it," John repeated.

"And what's that?" Rob asked, leaning forward.

"We've got to-" John began, but was cut off by the opening of the door.

In the doorway, a tall and muscled figure stood. Clad in a black suit and gloves, a gold earring sparkled in one ear. "Hello, sirs."

"Hello," Rob replied, standing up.

John waved. "Do I know you?" _I wonder if this man is one of my friends. He doesn't look that friendly. Why is he here?_

"No, Mr. Watson. But I know you," replied the man. An accent that was almost Southern tainted his words.

"Did Mycroft send you?" asked Rob, getting nervous.

The man nodded. "Get out of the way."

"What?" Rob was confused.

The Mycroft agent swept Rob aside with one enormous hand and grabbed John's arm. "Mr. Watson, you're coming with me."

"No, I don't want to," John said firmly, digging his heels into the carpet as he was easily dragged away. "Please, stop. I have to help Sherlock."

"That was what I was afraid of," muttered the agent, tugging harder.

"Let go!" John exclaimed, twisting away and out of the agent's grasp.

Rob sidled out the door, wanting to help but being too cowardly to interfere with a government agent.

John wanted to get out, but he found himself pressed up against the wall. He looked up at the agent, who towered nearly a foot taller than him, and glared, a fire of anger and fear lighting up his eyes. "Don't touch me."

"I had hoped we wouldn't have to do this the hard way," the agent said.

"What hard way?" John asked, but he didn't have time to react before the agent whipped out a gun and slammed the butt of it into his temple. He lost consciousness before he fell into the agent's outstretched arms.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N- I know that slamming the door down isn't exactly emotional or original, but there's gotta be some BAMF Sebastian… yeah.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" Sebastian whispered the name with increasing urgency to wake the consulting detective. It was the middle of the night, and Sherlock had actually fallen asleep for once.

Sherlock's sea-green eyes flickered open. "Yes?" He refused to turn around.

"Look at this!" Sebastian shoved his phone forward, hoping the bright light in the dark would get the consulting detective's attention.

Purely out of spite, Sherlock wouldn't move. "Tell me."

"Well, they didn't take my phone, and-" began Sebastian excitedly.

"They didn't take your phone?" exclaimed Sherlock indignantly, spinning around and glaring at the assassin.

"They couldn't understand the Yugoslavian technology," Sebastian said, grinning. Now he was even with his friend for making fun of his experience with foreign devices. "Well, I remembered that I had it, and now we can use it to talk to Mrs. Hudson and John!"

"Lovely," Sherlock said in his false-calm voice. "But next time, remember a little bit sooner!" _Good god, Seb's great, but he's a complete idiot._

"Should I call Mrs. Hudson?" asked Sebastian.

Sherlock nodded, excitement alight in his eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sebastian asked. "Right… Sorry it's three AM."

"How have you boys been?" asked the landlady. "Mycroft treating you alright?"

"Wow! So much happened since I talked to you last time!" exclaimed Sebastian.

"Do tell," Mrs. Hudson replied.

"Well, better make this quick just in case Mycroft hears us, but here goes." Sebastian inhaled deeply, planning to say everything in one breath. "SoitturnsoutthatMycroftisevilandJohnwenttothehospitalandhecamebuthedidn'trememberanythingand-"

"Talk slower dear, I can't understand a word you're saying," Mrs. Hudson commanded.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous," Sebastian replied. "Okay. Mycroft won't let us out even though Sherlock started to cry-"

"Don't tell her that," Sherlock said with a sigh. "I had to manipulate him."

Sebastian mouthed, 'Sorry, too late' before continuing. "So Mycroft's evil. John was at the hospital, but he's lost all of his memory! Like, all of it! Due to the collision, probably. And he didn't remember us or anything, and when the doctor guy brought him here, he was really shy and weird. He started crying too, and I think he tried to hug Sherlock, but there were bars in the way because Sherlock was in jail. And get this! They kissed!"

"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson.

"Well, not really, but kind of… It was a kiss on the cheek," Sebastian explained.

Sherlock sighed. "Just give me the phone, Seb."

"No!" exclaimed the assassin.

"Give it to me!" Sherlock commanded.

Sebastian flinched. "Alright…" He slid the phone across the floor.

Sherlock reached through the bars and grabbed it. "Ah. Much better."

"Sebastian?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"No, tis I: Sherlock," the consulting detective announced. "Tell me, can you get to John?"

"I knew it," Mrs. Hudson said with a giggle.

"Knew what?" Sherlock asked.

"I knew it all along!" exclaimed the landlady.

Sherlock sighed. "Whatever you're talking about, what I'm talking about is more important!"

"But-" began Mrs. Hudson.

"Good god, shut up!" Sherlock yelled, immediately wincing afterwards. _I said that much louder than I should have. _"Just tell me: do you know what's happened to John?"

"He's in the hospital, last I knew," replied Mrs. Hudson.

"Useless." Sherlock hung up. "He's not there anymore, is he, Seb?"

"I d-don't know," stammered the assassin, taken aback by the seemingly unanswerable question.

"Rhetorical question." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course he's not there."

"Uh, why not?" asked Sebastian, locking eyes with Sherlock through the bars of their cells.

"Because, no matter how nice that Rob fellow was, he's not able to keep John safe. Would you trust him with a life?" asked Sherlock, getting himself worked up.

"No… I don't think so," Sebastian answered. "I mean, I wouldn't if you wouldn't."

"And I don't."

"Right. So I don't."

"Excellent," Sherlock said under his breath. "So. Where would that put John?"

"Uh…" Sebastian tilted his head to one side.

"I'm talking to myself. I do that sometimes, if you hadn't noticed," Sherlock said sarcastically, standing up. _I talk to myself more than I talk to other people. _

"Right."

"And it should be… here." Sherlock tapped a spot on the door. "The weak spot, every door has one. Every prison cell door, that is. Now I just have to-"

"What about Mycroft?" asked Sebastian. "I talked to him, and he seemed kind of nice."

Sherlock glared hard at the assassin. "I don't care how nice he seems, John is in danger." He got ready to kick the door.

"Wait, just one more question," Sebastian said.

Sherlock stood normally again, obviously annoyed that his friend interrupted his kick. "Ask away, we've got all night." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"So, let me just get this straight. You and John are dating?" Sebastian sounded very confused.

"Yes; got a problem?" Sherlock dismissed the question and got ready, once again, to break the door down.

"No, it's just-"

"Oh, interrupt away!" exclaimed Sherlock, even more sarcasm decorating his speech. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to get us out."

"Sorry." Sebastian hung his head.

Sherlock paused. "Wait. You're stronger than I am."

"Yeah?"

"You've broken out of a hell of a lot of jails before," Sherlock continued.

"Yeah!"

"Alright, now you've got to kick here." The consulting detective explained the position best he could, and in seconds, he watched Sebastian's door smash to the ground in front of him.

In moments, they were out the door of the prison and breathing in the fresh, damp London air.

Sherlock grinned confidently, like he'd known what was going to happen the whole time, but one the inside, his thoughts were churning. _Where's John? Where'd he go, is he alright? What if I find him and it's too late?_

And, not that our consulting detective could know this, but wheels had been set in motion that could not be stopped, so, in a way, it was already too late.


	13. Chapter 13

John awoke with a pounding headache. _God, where am I? It smells like the bloody desert. Damn Afghanistan. Afghanistan? My… My memory!_

"Awake?" The voice came from the darkened corner opposite the doctor.

"Yeah." John inhaled, determined to get back to Baker Street. "Where the hell am I?"

"Don't be that way, Johnny boy," the voice said.

John felt his heart accelerate with fear. _Johnny? This can't… _"They arrested you…"

Jim Moriarty chuckled, stepping into the light. "They tried."

"But the agent said he was working for Mycroft," John replied, hoping that everything he was seeing was an illusion from the power with which the gun butt hit him, and knowing in his heart that it really wasn't.

"Yes. Ever heard of lying, pet?" Moriarty grinned. "Of course, you wouldn't even dream of it."

"So. Here we are again," John said grimly, ignoring the psychopath's comment on his innocence and honesty.

Moriarty gasped in faux-surprise. "You've got your memory back! It won't be nearly as fun now, will it?"

"How?" John asked. "I was in a hospital for quite a while, and the doctors couldn't do it."

"A good whack in the head was all it took, I guess." Moriarty sighed. "What a downer."

"Of course you would have wanted me to never remember any of my friends or family," John muttered.

Moriarty shook his head. "I would never! It was just interesting, hearing your proclamation of love to Sherlock."

"I didn't know any better!" exclaimed John.

"No, no, I think it's cute." Moriarty smiled maniacally. "Really cute."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _He's not getting to me. Not this time. _"Right. Why am I here?"

"Don't you want to talk?"

"No, not really." John sighed. "I just want to get back to Sherlock, alright?"

Moriarty chuckled. "Go ahead."

"What?" John's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Go. Run back to Sherly."

"But-" began John.

Moriarty interrupted. "Give him this little message, though. Alright?"

John nodded, scared.

"Tell him that next time he brings the police into our affairs, I'll kill you, good doctor. Now go."

John did. He left the room, and navigated his way out of the building, ignoring his pounding headache. "Taxi?" He held up his hand.

When a taxi stopped, John got in. "Baker Str- Wait."

"Yes?" asked the cabby.

"Lewiston Gardens," John amended. _If I'm going to find Sherlock anywhere, I'll find him at the Gardens. It's so weird having my memory back… God, I feel so bad. I must have scared them to death._

The taxi halted.

"Thank you." John stepped out. He walked nervously towards the two false buildings that Sherlock hid out in. The door, already unlocked, swung open at his touch, and a shiver ran up his spine. John tried to peer ahead, but darkness was all that was there. And, before the doctor had taken five steps, he felt a hand cover his mouth and another tangle in his hair. "Mmf!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Should I knock this guy out?" asked a voice.

John blinked several times. _This doesn't add up. Why would-_ He felt his head being yanked back by his hair, forcing him onto his knees. A blaring flashlight was shone in his face, and behind it was none other than-

"John." The flashlight dropped.

"Sherlock."


	14. Chapter 14

"Sebastian. Let go," Sherlock hissed, immediately kneeling by the doctor.

John felt the pressure on his head and hair release, and he fell forwards onto his hands and knees. "God, Sherlock, I-"

Sherlock hugged John, squeezing him tightly.

"No, Moriarty, he-" began John.

Sherlock froze. "Your memory." _He knows who Moriarty is._

"Yes, my memory," John replied. "It's back."

Sherlock slowly released John, his expression unreadable. "You hate me, don't you? You know I'm not human and you despise me. You don't love me; you were just doing what you were told was right. You didn't know any better so you just went along with it. I don't-"

"Sherlock, stop." John rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "If there's one bloody thing I learned from losing my memory, it's that I do love you. And I still do."

"What?" Sherlock whispered.

Sebastian, the only one still standing, glanced back and forth between his two friends who were sitting on the floor. _Intense…_

"And I always will," John continued, taking his hand off Sherlock's shoulder and finding the consulting detective's hand instead. "You're human, you hear? You're the most human human I've ever known, and I love you."

"You- you love-" stammered Sherlock. _You love me?_

"God, yes," interrupted John.

Then there was that awkward moment in which the two couldn't decide on whether to hug or kiss; a kind of confusion. They settled on simply holding hands, and it was enough for both of them.

After several minutes, Sebastian broke their daze. "Uh, sorry to ruin the moment, but there's police officials after us."

"Well, come on," Sherlock said, getting to his feet and pulling his doctor up after him.

"What?" asked John, confused.

Sherlock smiled. "We're going to meet them head on."

And the three walked out the door, the flashing red and blue lights and the blaring sirens not fazing them. The police force had gathered in a semicircle around the house, making it impossible to run. But that, of course, wasn't the plan.

"I know you've all been idiots," Sherlock yelled at the assembled police. "But we're willing to forgive you."

Lestrade took a step forwards. "Why?"

"Because you saved her life," Sherlock replied.

John gasped. "Molly? She's alive?" He began to laugh and cry at the same time, and felt Lestrade fold him into an embrace.

"I'm glad to have you back. All three of you." The DI smiled into John's hair. He stepped back. "Of course you nincompoops are cleared."

"We are?" asked Sebastian, not believing it. "Like, all my murders and all the things and-"

Lestrade nodded, cutting the assassin off. "All it took was a little talk with Mycroft, really."

Sherlock chuckled, his deep voice too refined for an all out laugh. He felt John grab his hand, and he intertwined their fingers. _This turned out too perfectly._ "How is brother dear?"

"He's fine, thank you," answered Mycroft, stepping out from behind Lestrade. "Sherlock, in the past few nights you've shown what I thought wasn't possible with you. Passion; devotion. Love. And I wish you the very best, hoping you accept this as an apology."

"I accept," Sherlock said, with a nod. "For now."

Mycroft smirked, and walked back, fading into the crowd of officers.

Lestrade smiled broadly, showing them to a taxi which drove off on a route that all three knew by heart.

_Back to Baker Street._

"What about Moriarty, though?" asked Sebastian, as they stepped out of the taxi in front of their house.

Sherlock couldn't shake off that smile, the one he was sure made him look like an idiot. "Well, we'll find out when we get there, won't we?"

John nodded, and the three went back home, to where they belong.

Three friends, one assassin, one doctor, one sociopath, two lovers, and a night that none of the three would ever forget.

One perfect DI, one lovely big brother. One welcoming and overjoyed landlady, and, somewhere out there, one dark and twisted villain.

One wish, held by everyone, that the next adventure would be even more crazy than this one. And, to comply with that wish, it most certainly, certainly would.

The End.


	15. Author's Note

Wow! It's over! I really hope you like the ending, cause I was kinda proud of it and… yeah. I don't know if it'll turn into a trilogy, but, you know, whatever you want and whatever I feel like. By the way, if any of y'all have ideas for stories you want me to write, send them! And I will write them!

And, to clear up any confusion, this part: "Three friends, one assassin, one doctor, one sociopath, two lovers, and a night that none of the three would ever forget." It was all talking about only the three, Seb, Sherlock, and John, just describing them in several different ways. Just gettin' that out of the way.

For me, this story was really fun and awesome, and I'd like to send a shoutout to CJCraziness, who's, like, the best buddy ever. CJ, thanks for all your support. I love you! And to all my other followers, readers, and reviewers. I love you all more than… more than… more than I love ice cream and BBC combined! Maybe not really… But I love y'all a hell of a lot!

And I sign off. Until we meet again, my friends.


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